


At the Helm

by roseaerie



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Betrayal, Boats and Ships, Confusion, DNF, Dark, Deep Sea, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, England (Country), Eventual Romance, Fantasy, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, Kings & Queens, M/M, New Lands, Once and Future King, Pirate Dream, Pirates, Pirates of the Caribbean References, Prince GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Princes & Princesses, Protective Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Romance, Sea Monsters, Secret Crush, Secrets, Slow Burn, Unknown Horizons, Water, battles at sea, dreamnotfound, secret kingdom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29681469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseaerie/pseuds/roseaerie
Summary: George is taken captive of a ship called Antarah where he meets the most feared group of pirates across all the seas. George is a Prince who is supposed to take his rightful place as King of England when it is his time. The current King, George's father named Richard, despises George. George knows he will have to escape these pirates by himself. His father will be more than happy to give Azazel, George's brother, the throne instead.Then George meets Dream. Dream is the captain of Antarah, and very handsome. At first Dream paints himself as a terrible man, acting as though he doesn't care for anyone but himself, but as George is forced to spend more time around the boy, he sees something in him that no one else has before.George must focus on the crown. He knows he must get back to England. So if he knows, why doesn't he try very hard?
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 120





	1. In the Shroud of Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George makes sure his effortless dark curls fell into the right place, touching a hand to the cool gold of his crown. His dark green cape swept behind him as he walked forward with the King and his brother to the hanging.
> 
> They went through the normal routine. His father yelled out a warning to any potential townspeople harboring pirates or any pirates that dared to show up to the hanging. George knew they came. He didn't care enough to tell his father. They deserved to be here. They deserved to be by their families.
> 
> "Bring out the first scum of the earth!" the King roars, stepping aside to sit on his throne in between George and Azazel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This fic is obviously just a ship between George and Dream, and should not be taken literally. If any of the cc's are uncomfortable with the fic I'll take it down immediately!

"'Ey lass! Pint down here!"

George pushes himself away from the bar as a pint of beer narrowly misses his arm, flying across the counter into the clutch of another rowdy townsperson. 

George looks around, fully taking in the place he came so often to escape. It was dimly lit, windows mostly covered with wood in an effort to keep the inside of the place hidden. You had to know exactly where you were going to get to the unmarked bar, fit for only the hardest of men. Tables were shoved into every free space, jukebox scarcely heard over the hoots of the bar-goers. 

The center of the bar was cleared to make a crowded dance floor, men twirling their ladies around in wild circles, their skirts flowing behind them like water. 

George was hardly one of the rough and tough burly men that came, but he was able to slip in and out of the bar without anyone ever paying much attention to him. George's shoulder collided with a much taller and stronger man, earning him a sneer. 

George's eye fell upon the medallion hanging from the man's neck, suppressing a grimace. Pirate. Pirates were illegal in this part of England. He shakes his head, ignoring the man as he pushes his way through the door, done with his afternoon drink. 

George squints through the bright rays of light, popping his ears now that he was away from the intense yelling of the other townspeople. He walks in the direction of where his carriage was, stumbling ever so slightly from the drink. He pulls the scarf he made of thin fabric tight around his face, covering his nose and mouth. 

He wanted to keep his identity secret from the townspeople, knowing they'd make a scene if they saw the heir to the crown stumbling about the town in his informal clothes. 

George signals to his carriage driver, checking both ways before he sneaks down the alleyway. 

"Sir. You really mustn't keep doing this. I must advise against it," Charles, George's carriage driver advises.

"Look Charles my life is the exact same thing every day," George says, hopping into the back of the carriage. "I've gotta live a little! Plus, I'll spend every other hour of the day with a stick up my-"

"Sir!"

George can practically hear Charles rolling his eyes, snapping the reins to urge the horse forward and out of the alleyway. George's head pounds to the rhythm of the horse's hooves clacking on the cobblestones. He slides down the padded seats, resting his head in his hands and massaging his temples. 

Maybe Charles was right.

~

"We're back my Lord," Charles announces, the carriage door opening with a soft click. 

"Can't I just stay here?" George moans sleepily, waving a hand dismissively.

Charles sighs. "You could. I'll just call your father down and let him know what happened-"

"And lookie there I'm awake!" George says, pushing himself up as his head pounds. 

"You should really stop drinking away all your issues. How hard can it be to be the Prince?" Charles asks sarcastically, helping George out of the carriage.

George looks blankly at Charles, one eyebrow raised. Charles chuckles, hooking George's arm around his shoulders and helping him to walk to his room.

Once both boys reach George's chambers, Charles lets George know that his maid will be up shortly, leaving George to himself.

George opens his doors, shutting them behind him as he tries to take his shoes off. He wobbles dangerously on one foot, balance even more off than usual. He pads across the room, stone cooling his feet as he flops himself into bed without even changing, almost immediately falling asleep as he draws his knees to his chest, cuddling his pillow.

~

Sharp rapping on George's door wakes him suddenly. He glances out his window, noticing the darkness. What time was it?

George gets up, grumbling and running a hand through his messy hair in an effort to smooth it down. He opens the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he mutters a half-hearted greeting to the late-night guest. 

A maid quickly scurries in, bowing deeply to the Prince before going to draw him a warm bath. When the tub is full, the maid lets George know before flouncing off to complete her other duties. George slips off his clothes, stifling a yawn as he slips into the hot water when it's ready. A moan passes his lips as the warm water envelops him, the lavender-scented soap helping to ease his racing mind. 

George scrubs the scent of smoke and alcohol still lingering from the bar off his skin, finishing quickly so he could get in a long night of sleep, curled up in his soft blankets. 

After all, tomorrow was a big day, and George was not looking forward to it.

He needed all the patience he could muster for this one.

~

The morning is a flurry of activity, multiple maids bustling to and fro around George, pulling him into several suits before finding the perfect one. One of the maid's combs through George's hair, styling it into an effortlessly handsome mess of curls that the girls wished they could run their fingers through. 

George looked at himself when he was finally done dressing in the mirror. He smiled at himself, knowing he looked good. The dark navy of his suit helped contrast against his light skin and dark brown hair, the slightly unbuttoned white shirt underneath unbuttoned slightly more than normal to give a tease of his muscled chest. 

George knew he looked good. Time to go make the country believe that too. 

He walks down the marble staircase of the castle, nodding to the guards at the bottom. George had gotten some much needed rest, feeling much better and full of energy from the moment he woke. 

He slides into the kitchen, shoveling down breakfast since he was already running late. He wanted to stop by the castle library before he was forced to attend a ceremony for his dad. He tries not to sprint through the halls, only allowing himself to run when the guards weren't looking. 

He quietly opens the heavy wooden doors to the library, climbing the circular staircase in search of a book to read for a few quiet minutes. George was typically the only person who even used the dated library hidden toward the bask of the castle. He traces the spines of each gently used book, eyes scanning the titles until he found a particular spine that jumped out at him.

 _A History of Pirates._ George traces a finger lightly over the gold text, leatherbound book smelling of dust and knowledge. George had always been fascinated with pirates, wanting to learn more about them.

This book definitely should not have been in the library. George's father, King Richard, made it his mission to outlaw pirates from the whole of England, threatening treason if they were to step on the shores of England ever again.

Harsh reminders of what would happen hung round the town square, posters warning of the dangerous sailors. Pirates were hung in the town square the next morning if they were to be caught. Goerge hated attending the hangings. It always made him sick to his stomach. He knew those pirates deserved it, yet it always put him in a sour mood. 

Pirates were always taught to be the lowest of the low. The sea filled with thieves chomping at the bit for some fresh blood. As a result, there were also many rules keeping townspeople from harboring pirates, and even having relationships with them. It was seen as treason.

"George!" King Richard calls from down the hall inside the throne room. 

George discards his book longingly, then scurries to the throne room, bowing to the King. At Richards's side was George's little brother, Azazel. George did not often forget about his brother, who always had a menacing look for anyone who dared to look him in the eyes. Truth be told, George was nothing like his brother. 

Richard and Azazel were practically attached at the hip. They both shared almost identical cruel and harsh views, often pitching ideas off each other for the ruling of England. Azazel was Richards's advisor. It had been Azazel's idea to start the public hangings of the pirates. Richard listened.

"Az," George nods coldly, hardly acknowledging his brother.

Azazel stares at George calculatingly, seeming to analyze his brother with a harsh gaze he shared only with George. 

George smiles awkwardly at the silence. "Well then, I guess we must be off?"

"Yes, yes," Richard mutters, pushing himself up from his throne. "To the hangings!"

George feels his stomach twist in disgust. How could his father say that like it was a normal thing? It is still just barely dark when they exit the palace, flanked on either side by guards. They enter the ceremonial carriage- the one that let the townspeople know exactly who was in their presence. 

The townspeople held great respect for the Royal family, so crime was minimum and for the most part only caused but the stupid pirates that littered their soil. George didn't much care for pirates. They were always so rough and rude. He still didn't think they needed to be executed.

Granted, some of them really were doing treasonous activities, to which the penalty was fair. It was the law, after all. People knew the repercussions if they committed an act of treason. George didn't like it, and he had tried to talk to his father as well as his advisors about making a more fair trial and punishment system.

"We barely even use our jail cells and we have so many! Why not just imprison the pirates below us?" George asks, moving his hands animatedly. "I understand it is a treasonous act to become a pirate, but killing these men when we can just lock them up for several years? It seems... wrong."

The King and his advisors stare back blankly at George. He sighs, knowing the battle is lost when the King pushes back his chair, striding over to George and firmly grasping his shoulder, steering him forcefully out of the room and throwing him to the floor.

"If you cannot learn to shut your mouth, you may not see the time you rule boy. Do not cross me," The King says threateningly, scowling. 

Azazel comes scurrying up as George wipes the blood from his lip he bit when he was cast to the cold stone. "Azazel. Always showing up at the perfect moment are you?"

Azazel just sneers coldly at George, looking down on him for the first time.

We'll see who is sitting atop the throne when all is said and done, brother. I am already a better ruler than you will ever be. You are nothing. It is no bigger sin that we are related," Azazel growls, following behind the King into the room like a slobbering puppy, desperate for attention.

When the doors swing shut forcefully, George pushes himself to his feet, adjusting his crown on his head. The gold feels cool in his hands, fitting perfectly on his head. The crown has spikes coming up all around the band, intricate lines of gold woven up and around them. It was the perfect piece for George. Intimidating, yet intricate. His mother had given him the crown when he was very young, somehow guessing his exact size for when he came to be old enough to wear it.

"For you, my little prince," the Queen rasps from her hospital bed, laying the crown gently across the lap of a cooing baby George. "I know you'll do great things."

George squeezes his eyes shut painfully, wishing he knew how little time he would get to spend with his mother. He missed her terribly. He always knew his father blamed him for her death, and to be honest, George blamed himself too. After all, she died shortly after giving birth to George. 

That day, so long ago, Richardson's heart turned cold forever.

Richardson had been disgusted with his son after he started to play with the other children, wondering off to share his lunch with some of the less fortunate kids begging for food. Richardson had adopted Azazel from one of his most ruthless guards, promising to take care of him and raise him to be a mighty warrior. 

Richardson had put all his time into his new son, Azazel, casting his eldest heir to the throne aside. George had raised himself, with the help of many of the mothers of England, taking kindly to George's naturally sweet nature. 

Quite a few guards thought fondly of George as well. There was a guard named Kane, who took George under his wing when George turned thirteen. Kane had never had a family. None of the Guards did. George used to follow Kane around on his rounds, always looking up to the heroic guard. Kane grew tired with the routine, sporadically starting to bring George with him to his training.

As George got older, Kane trained him more and more. The only motivation George had to get through this hanging was that he would get to train with Kane afterward. The carriage rolls over a slight bump in the road, jostling George closer to Azazel earning a sharp elbow to the ribs.

George winces, jumping out the other side to the carriage as it rolled to a stop. He makes sure his effortless dark curls fell into the right place, touching a hand to the cool gold of his crown. His dark green cape swept behind him as he walked forward with the King and his brother. 

They went through the normal routine. His father yelled out a warning to any potential townspeople harboring pirates or any pirates that dared to show up to the hanging. George knew they came. He didn't care enough to tell his father. They deserved to be here. They deserved to be by their families. 

"Bring out the first scum of the earth!" the King roars, stepping aside to sit on his throne in between George and Azazel. George takes a deep breath, seeing an older male shoved onto the stage. The executioner George does not know loops the rope around the older's neck, drums banging in tempo to George's fast-beating heart. 

As the last beat sounds, George shifts his eyes slightly to the right so he didn't have to watch. He knew his father would beat him if he caught George looking away, but George doesn't care. He couldn't bear to watch the light leave from the pirate's eyes. 

They run through the next few pirates, going through the exact same ritual. George wasn't able to look at any of them. Not even once. 

But the last pirate...

The executioner shoves someone from behind, crying out in pain as they hit their knee on the top step. George bites back a gasp, seeing the tiny child. His gold medallion marked with a clear skull is the only thing showing his true allegiance, swinging from his neck. He couldn't have been older than eight. 

George's stomach twists violently. George takes in a sharp inhale to try and avoid throwing up. He locks eyes with the child, his own filling with tears. He looked so small. So scared. 

He keeps his eyes on the child, pushing his shoulders down and sitting up straight. He wills all his bravery and strength through his gaze, into the child. 

_I'm with you._ George tells him wordlessly. _You are not alone. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I can't do anything.._

The child smiles microscopically in sorrow. 

_There was nothing you could do,_ he seems to say. _I know I must die. I knew the consequences. When you are King, you will fix this. You must._

George nods his head, barely noticeable as he promises the boy. 

When the noose is tightened around the boy's neck, he begins to shout.

"For too long we have been hanged against our will. For too long our battles at sea have won us nothing. For too long, you measly lot have been sitting on your thrones, oblivious to all the things we do for you," the boy reaches up to his medallion, his eyes desperately conveying a message as he slips the coin into his pocket. George nods, understanding. 

The boy takes a deep breath, watching George calmly. George sees his father raise his hand out of the corner of his eye, and the boy smiles at George. 

"Long live the future King," he calls, giving George a one-fingered salute- a sign of utmost respect- before the King lowers his hand in anger. George would pay for that later.

The platform swings open as George yells a prayer to the stars that the boy would pass peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading the first chapter of At the Helm!
> 
> As always, I appreciate any feedback you guys have! Reading comments is one of my favorite things! I would really appreciate if you leave a kudos if you enjoyed the work too! <3


	2. Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He throws his head back, smiling into the rain. He laughs joyously, throwing his arms out to the side and spinning around. He must look insane, but he doesn't care. 
> 
> He just revels in the moment.

George looks around, seeing people bustling to and fro. The thick crowd of people didn't notice the crown prince slipping away from his father and adopted brother, weaving his way through the throng of people.

George made his way to the body of the small pirate boy, left discarded on the ground. He closes his eyes, bending down to rest a hand on the young boy's forehead. He didn't even know his name. 

George sends another silent prayer to the stars, and then another to the boy himself. He promises him once again that one day he will be at the throne, righting all his father's wrongs. He wished he could give the boy a proper burial... 

George reaches into the boy's coat pocket, pulling out the medallion. George knew the boy wanted him to take it. It was almost as if he could hear the boy talking to him. It was so clear in his head. If George didn't know better, it was as if he could hear the boy.

When George touches the medallion, a shiver goes through his body. He thumbs over the rough groves, turning the necklace over. An unforgiving skull and crossbones are etched on both sides, staring blankly at George. Talk about creepy. And yet he gets a strange feeling that he's seen this piece before... but that's impossible. 

George hears the King yell his name, so he hurridly puts the medallion around his neck, stuffing it into his shirt to keep it concealed. He was now the owner of the treasonous symbol. As he hurries off to the King obediently, he doesn't notice the falcon that had perched just above him, watchful eyes following his every move.

~

George breathes heavily, smiling as the droplets of rain hit his face.

He was out on his daily morning run, already having made it pretty far from the castle. The sweet droplets run down his bare chest, cooling him down. He runs past the local library, longing to go in and select a new book.

He resists the temptation, drawing more breath into his burning lungs. The pain feels good. 

People stare as they see their Prince, but not because it's unlikely for him to be out. The townspeople were well aware of their kind Prince, as he was often stuck with his nose in a book walking down toward the square, having a bit of tea, or eating at the bakery.

The truth was that George sort of loathed being in the castle. Out here, he could be himself. At first, the townspeople were quite the bother to him, but soon they realized their Prince had a habit of being out and about, so it became less of a deal as they were seeing him on a daily basis. 

The women still stared. Sometimes even men too. 

George was just attractive. There wasn't any denying that. 

His dark brown hair, naturally straight, was often styled into curls, perfectly framing his sharp cheekbones and strong jawline. George had been training for many years, so he was very strong. His six-pack flexed as he drew up a breath, drawing a sigh from the young women who watched him run.

George used to be self-conscious about running without a shirt, but he had become more confident in himself as he had gotten older. Plus, the attention was sorta nice... he didn't get many compliments from his dad. George would never admit it, but it was nice for him to receive some compliments every once in a while. 

How sad that he had to get them from stupid women down by the pier...

George receives a few mocking catcalls from the captains and fisherman. George glared at them, balling his fists in a challenge as he continued running, whistling for his beefy guards who pick up the pace to catch up with George. They look at the catcallers in disgust.

Safe to say, the catcalling men got the message.

When George had gotten past the pier, he signals for his guards to drop back once again, leaving him to his thoughts. It wasn't like he didn't like the men, he just didn't like having a bunch of guards around him in general. 

Sometimes, all George wanted was to be normal. 

His eyes sweep over the townspeople in the square, wondering if they knew just how lucky they were. Suddenly George hears a faint yell of indignation. He turns, making sure everyone was ok.

He slows his pace as he sees a little girl who looked like she was around 10 years old. There were teenagers surrounding her, holding a doll over her head tauntingly.

"That's mine!" she wines. "Please give it back!"

George trots over, plucking the doll out of the naughty teenaged boy's hand. He smiles warmly, handing it to her gently. She hugs it to her chest, thanking George with a bow and a sweet smile, then runs off to tell her mom of her encounter with the handsome Prince. 

When the teens realize who has caught them, they grumble, bowing quickly in apology before walking away shamefully. George chuckles, noticing more ladies swooning on the side but choosing to ignore them, continuing on his run. 

As the light drizzle starts to transition into a heavy downfall, townspeople crowd into buildings, trying to stay protected from the storm. George basks in the quietness, only the sound of pounding rain in his ears. 

He stops by the grand fountain and statue of one of the old Kings. He throws his head back, smiling into the rain. He laughs joyously, throwing his arms out to the side and spinning around. He must look insane, but he doesn't care. 

He just revels in the moment.

Somehow, he was happiest when he was by himself. He couldn't help but think it was a little sad. He stops spinning, staring into the rapidly filling fountain. He takes out a spare coin from his pocket, holding it in both his hands.

 _I wish I had someone to talk to. Someone I could love._ George wishes, squeezing his eyes shut as he kissed the coin. He watches it wistfully sinking to the bottom of the pond, coming to rest by the other glinting coins.

George wonders what it's like down there. How quiet it must be.

As he walks back toward the palace, he can't help but think of how his life is spent like a cast coin.

He wished great things for his life when in reality he would probably lie forgotten, turning out to be simply ordinary.

~

When he arrived back at the palace dripping wet, he immediately knew something was off.

"Where were you?" Azazel hisses, falling in step with George who had just changed out of his wet clothes.

"Running," George whispers back as both boys stride into the throne room. "I can feel the tension. What's happened?"

"PIRATES ON OUR HORIZON?!" the King bellows, gesturing wildly to a head guard. "Go. Get your men ready."

George moves to the side as the guard scurries out, already calling out orders to every guard in the palace. 

"Father? What's happened?" George asks, fingering the medallion nervously through his button-up. He feels cold as if he had just submerged himself in ice water. The feeling immediately stops when he stops rubbing the medallion. Weird.

"If you'd have been here, you'd know. Where the hell were you?" Richard yells at George. 

George looks down in shame. 

"Az. Come with me," the King gestures. "George you've done enough today. You can go to your room and think about what matters to you. Yourself or the Crown."

"But father!" George protests. "How am I meant to be a great King if I have no practice?"

"Looks like you're going to have to start trying harder then. This conversation is over," the King says snarkily, leaving George alone again with a dramatic sweep of his cape.

George yells angrily, swiping a vase off its table, shattering it in anger. He throws the doors to the throne room open, stalking to his room. He fumes, fists balled at his sides in anger as a group of shouting guards rushes past him.

"-on your guard!" a familiar voice yells. George smiles in spite of his bad mood as he comes around the corner. 

"Kane!" George shouts, stopping his favorite head guard quickly. "What's happening?"

"I can't talk for long George. Pirates. Our scouts report they are arming themselves out by the shore. Their cannons are aimed for the palace, as well as the town around us. We've already lost several men...." 

George curses under his breath Kane pats him sharply on the back, smiling grimly as he turns to follow his troops. 

"Kane!" George calls. Kane turns.

"Just... be careful," Kane nods once, turning swiftly on his heel and running after his guards, ever the hero. 

George sighs, gripping the cold metal of the handle to his door. He can't bring himself to just go inside as his grip tightens painfully. He thinks for a moment, making a split-second decision and swinging open the doors.

~

The first boom from the enemy's cannon takes the roof off of an innocent townspersons house. George's heart sinks as people scream in terror, running around confusingly. George helps everyone he can on the way to the breached shore. 

He hears a horn blow in the distance, then the sound of the guards firing back their own cannons. George helps up an elderly person, looking out and across the choppy water of the ocean. 

His stomach sinks to the bottom of the ocean when he sees the rowboats rowing rapidly toward the shore. Guards shout orders to each other, half of them breaking apart to come toward George to protect the shore.

"George!" Kane yells, elbowing his way through the hundreds of shouting guards. "What are you doing here! You must go!"

"NO!" George shouts back, drawing his sword from its scabbard with a resounding cling. "I will stay and fight with you. My allegiance is to England, and now is not the time for fear. I must prove myself eventually!"

"George I get that, but you are the CROWNED PRINCE, goddamn it! You can't die tonight! You have to protect yourself so you can help change England. Please, you must listen!" Kane pleads as the rowboats come close enough that George can hear the war cries of the pirates. 

George sighs. "Five minutes? Please. That's all I'm asking."

Kane stares back annoyed, sighing in agreement. George lets out a whoop in victory.

"I think you're just scared because you're about to get your ass handed to you," George retorts, smirking competitively. 

"Oh you're so on. These pirates are about to taste what real swordplay is," Kane responds, prepping as the pirates start to dismount the rowboats. 

"GUARDS!" Kane commands. "On me. Your Crown Prince is fighting with you today. Fight for him, and fight for your King. For England!"

"FOR ENGLAND!" the guards roar, charging the upcoming pirates. 

As swords cling and cries of pain ring out, George ducks and dives in between pirates and guards. He cuts down anyone in his path, his familiar sword training coming back to him almost immediately.

George was very good with handling swords, mastering the art from Kane. He looks over, checking on the head guard. Just as he suspected, Kane was doing just fine. He was fighting off two pirates, quickly parrying their attacks and sending them to the ground with a quick slice. 

"YOU BETTER HURRY UP!" Kane shouts, the group of pirates steadily decreasing. "I'M WINNING!"

George just rolls his eyes, running to a new group of pirates. Soon he is quickly surrounded, five pirates circling up around him. 

"That's him," one whispers.

"Not him."

"Yes him look at the crown!"

"He wants him."

"You mustn't harm the boy."

George stands confused as the pirates grumble, sheathing their swords. George suddenly gets shoved from behind, catching him off guard and knocking him off his balance, sending him stumbling into the clutches of a filthy pirate. 

He inhales the sharp scent of beer, cringing. A rag is stuffed over his nose and mouth as his eyes widen in panic. Poison. He desperately tries to escape from the pirate's grip, shouting for Kane to no avail. 

His eyes grow heavy, his panic subsiding as only thoughts of sleep take over his mind.

"What did you... what are you doing to me?" George staggers sleepily.

"You're ours now, pretty boy with the pretty crown."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh i hope you enjoyed the second chapter! i've got BIG plans for the next one, so make sure you stick around! :D
> 
> As always, i would love to read ur comments! Don't hesitate to leave a kudos too if you'd like! I appreciate every single bit of support I get! thank you guys so much for reading <3


	3. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He breaths in heavily, air blocked by the rough sack over his head. He tastes blood as he bites down hard on his lip. So this wasn't another one of his nightmares...
> 
> "Aye," someone speaks in a rough voice, silencing the many others. "Our little Prince is awake. Look how pretty he is, even with his face covered."
> 
> The group laughs, their sharp dialect tipping George off to who he was surrounded by. Pirates.
> 
> Someone ripped the sack from George's head, and his vision went white with the bright sun. He blinked hard, tears forming at the corner of his eyes while he could feel the gaze of many pirates fall on him. He never thought he would see the day where he wouldn't want any sort of attention...

George feels rough hands supporting his body, dragging him along. The two men talk quickly to each other, but George's head hurts so bad he can't even fully compute what they are saying. He catches little bits of 'crown' and 'Prince' mangled with swears before he loses consciousness.

His stomach turns as the floor feels like it's moving from under George's feet. He moans, not able to open his eyes. He goes to reach up and rub them, but he can't move his arms. His heart speeds up as he realizes the tight pinch around his midsection is ropes. 

He breaths in heavily, air blocked by the rough sack over his head. He tastes blood as he bites down hard on his lip. So this wasn't another one of his nightmares...

"Aye," someone speaks in a rough voice, silencing the many others. "Our little Prince is awake. Look how pretty he is, even with his face covered."

The group laughs, their sharp dialect tipping George off to who he was surrounded by. Pirates.

Someone ripped the sack from George's head, and his vision went white with the bright sun. He blinked hard, tears forming at the corner of his eyes while he could feel the gaze of many pirates fall on him. He never thought he would see the day where he wouldn't want any sort of attention...

When George's vision returned, he was met with the faces of many pirates staring at him hungrily, but most importantly, the wooden ship. The outsides edges are lined with supply crates, as well as some of the cannons. George knew he must've been tied to the mast, as he was in the middle of the ship. To his left were windows and a door, which he assumed to lead to some sort of fancy room.

At least 20 pirates were all on the deck, some doing their chores and others just staring at George. George shivered as he recognized a few of the pirates staring at him in a more serious way. He looked down, seeing through the crack of the wood where tiny bits of flickering light from candles and lanterns shone through. So this ship was multileveled... the captain must've had money.

The pirates all have ripped clothing, the severity depending on the person. Some didn't even have any shoes on. George could tell among that many of the crew didn't have much money. George had read many books about pirates, and as such he knew most of their strange dialect and customs. His gaze flits from person to person, looking for the familiar hat of a captain, but seeing none. 

Maybe they didn't have a captain. 

They laugh, making crude jokes about what they would do to him when all of a sudden every single pirate goes deathly quiet, looking just past George. George takes advantage of the attention being on something else as he desperately looks around for a way to escape. From what he can see, only the rolling deep blue of the ocean is his option. 

He was just going to have to stay put for now.

He hears muted footsteps behind him, getting closer. The clink of a sword tapping the ground quickens his breathing, but the mast prevents him from turning his head. 

"So," a deeply accented voice flows past George's ears. If he knew any better, he would say the accent was beautiful. French, was it?

"The crowned Prince of England. On my humble little ship. What an honor to be blessed by his appearance, am I right boys?" the voice asks, met with the mixed calls of agreement.

"Why don't you do me the honor of revealing yourself to me," George spits, voice laced with sarcasm and hatred.

"Ooh," the man drawls. "A bit feisty, this one. I knew you had it in you somewhere."

"Can't help but notice I still can't see you," George says, wiggling around in his tight restraints. "If you'd like, you can untie me and I'll show you what feisty really means."

"Hmm," the man pouts, feigning sympathy. "I don't think so."

"Coward," George mutters under his breath. He sees the pirate's eyes go wide for a moment, then one by one, cruel smiles carve into George as the pirates wait to see how their leader will respond. 

The man doesn't speak for several moments, silence deafening George. George feels the captain's hot stare of hatred boring into his back, yet he refuses to take back what he said.

"Look if you are going to kill me, just kill me. If you think you're going to get some kind of ransom for this, you're wrong," George says.

"And why is that, pretty boy?"

"Though I may be the crowned Prince, my father would never waste his resources on me. He's been waiting on me to be kidnapped or killed practically since the day I've been born."

"Why is it that I don't believe you?" The pretty accent asks. "And even if I did, why would I help your kind when they have persecuted against us? You swine have been murdering us in cold blood for ages."

"I mean if you just want to keep me here, then fine. But you must let me go. My brother- he will be the King if you kill me. I want to help you guys. What my father and ancestors have done is wrong. I know that now. But if you kill me, you'll regret it. My brother is not a person anymore. He will stop at nothing to wipe you all out. He'll accomplish his mission too, I promise you that," George explains. 

"I won't just be releasing you. We've been watching you for a long time, Prince George. We know your weaknesses," the boots begin to pace behind George. "I know of your kind heart. I know of your ideas. I know how many people care about their dear Prince George."

"Not the people that matter in the end..." George trails off. 

"You will be the sacrifice that England has to make. They can choose. We'll give you back in one piece if they agree to our terms of lessening the law on us. If they don't, well then- you'll be rather small when you are delivered back to them," the accent threatens. 

George laughs. "I don't fear death, pirate. It'd be better than the life I'm currently living right now."

"If only that were true, my lord," the voice mocks. "I know you fear death. I know you fear not being able to make the future a better place. I know you fear for your kingdom, and what should happen to it if your brother ruled. You and I are not so different from each other."

"You're wrong!" George shouts angrily. "I would never commit crimes like you. You don't have me figured out. I hate all of you. All you do is commit crimes out at sea. All you do is murder and take, take take. Take valuables, take names, and take lives! You are murderers, and you will never change, will you?"

"Then why do you even bother wanting to help us?" The voice raises.

"Because nobody deserves to die," George says harshly. "Not even you."

The boots stop pacing, then quicken to walk around the mast. George is met with eyes as blue as the ocean, sparkling against the contrast of his tanned skin. A black thin scarf conceals the entirety of his lower face, hiding the person's expression. George can see his eyes though, and they were unlike any pirate's eyes from which he'd ever seen. They were almost human. 

What surprises George even more what the youthfulness he could see. The captain looked to be about his age.

The unmistakable tri-pointed hat was what tipped George off to the identity of the person.

The captain. 

George sees the matching medallion hanging from the captain's neck, and the captain smiles cruelly. "I bet you recognize this, don't you?" he says threateningly, gripping the medallion tightly. 

George looks away, saying nothing.

"You stole one of these from us," the captain says deeply, gently tapping the end of his sword against the cool metal of the medallion hanging on George's neck. "Still think we are so different, young Prince?"

He raises his sword from George's chest, pointing it inches away from his vulnerable throat. 

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't give you the death that you think you aren't afraid of. Let me hear you beg," the captain insists, eyes glimmering with the challenge as he leans his face inches away from George.

"You won't kill me," George says confidently, smiling coldly despite his distracting heart, which had strangely started beating faster. "I can see it in your eyes. You've covered everything but the one thing that tells me what you are truly thinking. Terrible mistake for someone who considers himself to be so smart."

Anger clouds the murky blue eyes, removing some of the sparkle, however, he lowers his sword and puts it forcefully back into its resting place by his hip. He gives George one last look of hatred, matched just as fiercely by George, before stalking off with his long black coat and oddly comforting scent of pine leaving with him. 

George watches him snap at one of the pirates with a white headband, who follows after him into the windowed room, slamming the door behind them both. The crew immediately starts talking again, but this time the subject is not on George.

"He didn't kill him..."

"-kills everyone-"

"-I should kill him instead-"

George breaths deeply as his heart returns to normal. He was shocked.

How was he not dead?

~

As the day goes on, George grows increasingly uncomfortable. The sun beats down on him as drops of salty sweat burn his eyes, his hands tied too tight to wipe it. His button-up shirt and creased formal pants grow itchier and itchier, torture in themselves. 

George had developed a headache, pounding on as insistently as his growing fear. 

He was starting to really realize that he might be done for. 

He might die here.

All alone.

~

George is woken when his head lulls to the side. He moans in pain, shifting just slightly against his restraints. His neck had terrible pain in the left side, twinging when he rolled it out. He holds back tears, sighing in frustration.

There were no more pirates up on the deck, so he allows himself to finally let the first tide of tears release. He sobs only once, trying so hard to conceal his emotions as his father had taught him. 'Don't be weak George,' he would say.

If only he could see him now. Weak as could be. 

Did he even miss him?

Did anyone miss him?

George finally stops crying, hearing the same noise he had been hearing all night. What the noise stops, he realizes the noise he thought was a lantern scraping on the barrels near him was actually a knife carving something.

"Thank god you stopped crying. It was starting to annoy me," someone complains sarcastically.

"Who are you," George asks harshly, sniffing. The voice was certainly different to those of the captains and the pirates earlier who were teasing George. It was softer. Almost kinder.

George turns his head in the direction of the captain's quarters, seeing the shadow of the pirate sitting on an upturned barrel, his knife used for carving a hunk of wood catching the rays of the moonlight. 

"I'm Karl," he says quietly, getting up so the light reflecting off the ocean was enough to illuminate his face. He looked to be about George's age too. "I'm the Sailing Master of the Antarah."

"The Antarah?" George squeaks. "We're on the Antarah?"

The Antarah was known for being the ship that was most feared out of all the pirates. The crew was merciless, taking no survivors and blowing anything in their path straight to the bottom of the ocean. England had lost so many of its homes and soldiers to the Antarah. Legend had it that the crew called themselves Les immortels. The immortals.

"Yup. Welcome to hell," Karl states simply, resuming craving the block of wood.

"Don't you sleep?" George asks, trying to quell the fear that quivered his voice ever so slightly.

"I used to. Now I've been assigned to watch over you."

"Well clearly I'm not going anywhere," George says sarcastically, gesturing to himself minimally. 

"Yes, but it was what I was told to do. I respect our captain, therefore I respect his decisions. He hasn't steered me wrong before. For a crew, respect is everything. I would die for any person on this ship, and I know they would do the same for me," Karl says flatly as if he had explained this a million times, and by now it was just normal. 

George sighs, eyebrows creasing in confusion.

"You say respect is important to you, but what kind of respect is this?" George asks, referencing himself. "You've tied me up, haven't once offered food. I'm the bloody Prince of England for god's sake."

Karl stops carving, looking up at George quizzically. He stands, walking down a set of stairs. He returns shortly with a plate made up of a hunk of bread, meat, and cheese, putting it on the barrel closest to George.

He pulls out his sword, and George gasps as he draws it back. Karl stops, concern in his eyes evident.

"I'm just loosening this," Karl explains softly.

"Oh- erm... right. Right then," George coughs awkwardly, trying to muster his royal tone back. "Carry on." 

Karl smirks, amused at the Prince's change of demeanor, as he loosens the thick ropes from around George's waist and torso. As soon as George's arms are free, he lunges for the food, realizing how hungry he was when he smelled the doughy bread. 

It was the best meal he had in a while.

As he finishes his last savory hunk of cheese, Karl takes the plate from him, bringing him a bucket and ladle with water inside. George drinks, choking as he inhales too much. Karl laughs, but not unkindly. 

"You're- you're different," George mutters. 

"And how is that, my lord?"

"You just- nevermind. If you know what's good for you, you'll leave me for the rest of the night," George commands. 

"Ahh alas I'm afraid I cannot do that, your highness," Karl chuckles, returning to his activity of meticulously carving the wood. "Get some sleep. You'll need it."

"What- what about the captain?" George asks.

"What about him?"

"I mean, why do you guys kill so many people? Take so many things?"

Karl is silent for a moment before heaving a huge sigh. 

"We only take what deserves to be taken. We only kill those who deserve to killed. Our captain... he does what is necessary. You and your kind just don't see it. You chose to ignore us. Once we helped you. Once you helped us. No longer is that true," Karl says bitterly.

"You know, he isn't a bad person," Karl mutters after a moment of silence. "He used to be- he used to be a man I once knew had the kindest soul. Since becoming our captain after his father, our old captain died, he's been- off. Stressed. He's changed."

George looks at Karl, seeing an emotion he cannot quite place.

"I know there is still good in him. He has this strange passion for making the world see the true nature of pirates. We aren't all bad. Yes, we do things differently, but you wouldn't understand that. You simply couldn't. You've had your life fed to you on a silver spoon. Some of us aren't quite so lucky..." Karl trails off, walking back to his seat where he picks up his knife and wood, giving George one last cryptic look before leaving him alone. 

George sighs heavily, feeling the medallion still hung securely around his neck. He couldn't believe that the captain hadn't taken it from him earlier. He realized he didn't even know his name. Could what Karl had been saying be true?

It couldn't. Why would Karl tell him the truth anyway? It must've been a manipulation act. 

George looks to the bright stars, wishing he had taken the astrology class that had been offered to him. Maybe he would have known where he was if he could read the stars. His eyes trace over the spots of light, admiring the minuscule difference between them.

It baffled him that those tiny specks were actually so much bigger than he could imagine. He had a telescope at the palace and he used it often, spending most of his nights looking upon the faces of the bright stars and planets. Of course, he never knew just quite what he was looking at. 

A constellation winks at him from the corner of his eyes, forming into the shape of a spoon when he looked upon it closer. The big dipper. It took George seconds to find its friend, the smaller version. He smiled fondly. 

In the distance, there was a star much brighter and bigger than the rest of the stars. George had remembered being able to see it from the palace. Maybe they weren't so far away after all. His gaze drifts to the white sails, flapping gently in the wind. 

The sea splashes calmly against the side of the boat, the occasional salty spray hitting George's face. He laughs, knowing that if he weren't kidnapped he would have thought the situation to be calming.

His final thoughts before he drifts to sleep are of England, desperately hoping its people weren't being destroyed by its governing body.

For without George, it was going to be a rough awakening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH I'm so sorry it took me so long to update! Life has been a bit crazy! I hoped you enjoyed the first meeting of the pirates! I have some bigggggg plans for the next few chapters, so make sure you are watching out for those! :D
> 
> Kudos and comments mean the world, and are a great way to support if you like the fic! My favorite thing is reading through you guys comments, and I really appreciate all of you who are supporting my work! <3


	4. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His attention is drawn back to the booted footsteps coming to rest in front of him. He closes his eyes again, too tired to protest to what would happen to him. He hears a heavy exhale before the person turns on their heel, seeming to leave the room, but at the last second, the man hesitates for a heartbeat. 
> 
> They sigh once more, sounding frustrated before coming back to George, strong arms sliding beneath him and picking him up. George sighs happily, hugging himself closer to the warmth as he nuzzles his face into the comfort of the pine-scented soft shirt. 
> 
> And for the first time in a while, he felt safe.

George wakes to a very insistent pair of hands untying his ropes hastily. George blinks open his eyes as he hears the man swear, hands fumbling with the ties.

"What's- what's going on?" George asks groggily. "Who are you?"

George sees the same boy he saw yesterday. The boy with the white headband who followed the captain. 

"I'm Sapnap," he says, finally getting the ropes untied and picking up George and throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

"Wha- hey!" George exclaims, not even able to react before Sapnap hoisted him up. George feels his shirt ride up, pirates catcalling him as his face reddens. Sapnap orders them back to work, taking George through the same door that the captain had gone through.

George takes in the view from upside down, catching a big table piled high with maps and opened books, as well as a black piece of furniture that looked to be a piano. His vision is cut short as he feels Sapnap going down a set of stairs into someone's room. A massive four-poster bed complete with dark green curtains sat in the corner, complete with two nightstands on either side. 

Sapnap plunks George down and without any further explanation, he exits the room going through the same door he just came through. George hears the lock click shut behind him. He was stuck yet again!

Nonetheless, he goes to the door and tries the handle. Just as he thought. Locked. He sighs dejectedly, having too much pride to try and call the mysterious 'Sapnap' back. His eye catches the wrinkled page of what looked to be from a book, nailed to the wall next to a bookshelf. He gets closer to it, reading the familiar lines. 

_"Doubt thou the stars are fire;  
Doubt that the sun doth move;  
Doubt truth to be a liar;  
But never doubt I love."  
_

George exhales a soft gasp, smiling softly. Shakespeare. 

He loved Shakespeare. 

That particular quote was from Hamlet, one of George's favorite pieces of literature. He had discovered Shakespeare through his studies but had continued independent reading on him for as long as he could remember. His personal library had every single work by Shakespeare, except for one.

The King had forbidden George from reading it, though he didn't know why. It was called A Midsummers Night Dream. Of course, being forbidden from reading the text had only made George want to read it more, but he had been too busy to look for another copy. 

He had been able to sneak into the palace library, as well as the townspeople's library, and hadn't found one. He thought it to be particularly strange, but the King had thrown him into more duties.

"If you have enough time to read, then you have enough time to better yourself," he'd say. George sort of agreed, but truth be told reading was the only joy he got. He had always been forbidden to leave the palace when he was younger, up until he turned 18. By that time, he didn't have any friends, nor would anybody want to be his friend. 

George knew this, yet it didn't stop him from trying. Naturally, there were people lined up by the thousands at a chance to get to know the extremely handsome and mysterious Prince George, but George didn't want it that way.

He wanted someone to treat him like a normal person. 

And then when all hope seemed lost, he had found one. Someone had left an anonymous letter at the gardens of the palace where George would often find himself. The letter was tucked just behind his favorite bench. 

_George,  
I hope I'm not going too far by reaching out to you. Also yes, I 100% bypassed security and committed a crime to get this letter to you._

George laughed, continuing to read the scrolling cursive.

 _I know you probably have gotten this offer a thousand times. God, as I write this it sounds stupider by the second...  
But if you ever need someone random to talk to or a friend, I'm offering to be that person for you. There's something about you that I just feel is different.   
You and I will never be the same, and I may not understand what you are going through, but I know it is hard to be a leader. I will always be here for you to talk to if you so chose.   
If you ever want to reach me, put your letter under the rosebush at the statue of the King by the docks.   
Until then,  
C _:)

Ever since that letter, George would talk to the mysterious 'C' as often as he could. For the first time, he had a sort of friend. He learned that C was very busy, constantly on some sort of mission, but C would return to the docks of England as often as he could.

Back before George had met C, he had wanted to trade in his crown every single day. He told C this once, in a confession.

_Ahh but we cannot give up our heritage, can we?  
Trust me, I know a lot more about heritage and seemingly empty promises than I should care to admit, but you have to remember that we are not our parents.   
You've been given this blessing to right what your father has wronged. You can't simply throw away that opportunity.  
_ _I will be proud to be in a country led by you one day._

George had kept that letter. Every other one he had burned, just in case anyone were to discover of George's habits. He knew his father would have his head for communicating with townspeople. But this letter...

This was special.

George knew exactly where it was. Hidden under a pile of old textbooks that were collecting dust. 

Now, George knew he wouldn't trade his heritage for anything. Though the duty was extremely rough, George knew in his heart that he could be the ruler England needed so desperately. He must be. There was simply no other option. 

He had to get back before Aldrich gave Azazel George's crown. All he had to do was convince the captain. 

Drawn out of his memories, he looks around the room a bit more, drawn to the wooden bookshelf holding an impressive collection of novels and other works. George runs his finger longingly down the spine of a familiar leather-bound gold textbook. 'A History of England'. 

George knew his name was among the last pages. The book had been published back when he was just being born. It ended with the death of his mother, caused by him. Not so great a way to end.

He sighs, moving away from the familiar comfort of books, walking past a desk littered with papers thrown haphazardly on it. 

He catches signatures he can't quite make out, as well as treaties from other pirates. He feels weird about snooping, though they are only pirates. He sits on the floor, resting his back against the dark wood of the footboard of the massive bed, watching the sun drop below the water as beautiful pink paints the sky in sunset.

George looks into the sunset, wondering how many people were watching the same phenomenon with him. 

Maybe Kane was amongst them.

He hopes he knows it isn't his fault.

"Goodnight Kane," George mutters.

~

A sliver of golden light illuminates the flecks of dust as George groggily peaks at the source of the light. He doesn't get up, muscles aching from the strange position he had found himself lying in on the floor, facing the door in case he could make a quick getaway. 

He hears the clatter of the person taking off their sword and placing it down, yet he is still too exhausted from the events of yesterday to even get up. He had woken to persistent pounding on the door. Sapnap told him the crew was waiting, so George got up reluctantly. The crew had put him to work on the deck, scrubbing the floors. Another man he had not met before walked around, yelling at the slacking members of the crew as a reminder. 

He had gotten yelled at many times, the forceful shove from the other crew members seeming less and less accidental as the sun got more and more persistent. By the end of the day, George had practically let himself be carried by Sapnap, not protesting one bit as the door locked behind him in the chambers. For fear of what would happen if one of the crew found him in their bed, George curled up on the unforgiving floor and had promptly fallen asleep, until this moment. 

His teeth chattered at the surprising coldness of the room. Every time his muscles contracted in shivers, he would wince in pain. How could the crew do this every day? How could he? 

His attention is drawn back to the booted footsteps coming to rest in front of him. He closes his eyes again, too tired to protest to what would happen to him. He hears a heavy exhale before the person turns on their heel, seeming to leave the room, but at the last second, the man hesitates for a heartbeat. 

They sigh once more, sounding frustrated before coming back to George, strong arms sliding beneath him and picking him up. George sighs happily, hugging himself closer to the warmth as he nuzzles his face into the comfort of the pine-scented soft shirt. 

The person holding him freezes, stiffening as he walks them somewhere else. When an achingly silky and cool pillow meets George's cheek, he knows he has been placed gently in the bed he had longed to lay on. 

A soft moan is drawn from his lips as his sore muscles sink into the plush mattress, warm hands checking him over. The person runs his finger along George's shirt, hitting his bare skin where the new rip in his shirt was. Just above his heart. 

That's right...

One of the shoves from the pirates had sent George tumbling straight into the rough side of a barrel, ripping his shirt and nicking him pretty well. George's face turned white at the amount of blood blooming across his white button-up, but the boy keeping everyone to pace had told George to ignore it. 

No wonder his chest had ached so bad. Now he knew. 

George feels hesitant fingers unbutton his shirt, picking him up gently to remove it. George shivers harshly at the newfound coldness of the room as his shirt is taken off. 

"Just a minute, idiot," the husky French accent chides. "I've got half a brain to help you out."

George knows that voice. The captain. The so-called ruthless, unforgiving, and merciless captain was tending to his cut ever so gently, rubbing something extremely carefully over the painful wound, the coolness soothing it. 

"Why are you helping me?" George mumbles sleepily, opening his eyes ever so slightly to see another bare-chested person sitting rather close to him, abs contracting every time he would inhale. 

George can feel his face heat up, closing his eyes in shame of the tiny bit of heat he could feel curl up in his stomach. 

The captain sighs, feigning annoyance. And maybe George just wanted to, but he could hear the kindness. It was hidden, locked up in the deepest part of the man's soul. It was protected more than George's chambers, but he could still hear it, though it was deep down.

The captain chooses not to answer George's question, focusing rather intently on George. 

George just barely holds back a moan of relief as Dream gently massages George's arms. He hadn't remembered getting cut there...

They sit in silence for a moment, tension between the two thickening the air. 

"You're rather strong for someone who just sits upon a throne all day," the captain comments dryly. 

"I'll have you know that I do training every day for almost four hours. So yes, I am rather strong. You just like to torture me with mop work, when I could be doing something else. It kills my back and shoulders more than my regular workouts do arsehole," George winces in pain as the captain squeezes his arm particularly hard. "OUCH!"

The captain breaths, and if George hadn't known better he would have thought it was a laugh. 

"Call me an arsehole again and see what happens, petite merde," Dream retorts, his French accent combining whimsically with the words. 

"Didn't know you could still speak French," George comments. "I don't know a lot of things about you. I've always heard of the fear-invoking Les immortals, and their nameless captain. I've heard about the damages, deaths, and sadness you leave in your wake, but..."

"But what?" the captain says, hints of anger behind his question. 

"Nothing," George shakes his head, sighing as the captain moves to massage his other arm.

"I know a lot about you, my Prince," the captain comments. 

"No, you don't. You just know what all the history books say. All the journals. The gossip. That's not me," George states. "You know the way my father has chosen to display me. I'm different."

The Prince opens his eyes, immediately met with an ocean-eyed stare. There is a look on Dream's face that George cannot place, but for the first time, he didn't look so emotionless. For the first time, George saw a person.

"So, oh great nameless captain!" George says sarcastically as Dream sits George up to massage his shoulders. "I thought all you pirates wanted was fame and glory. Why do you keep your name a secret?"

The captain shrugs simply.

"I'm not all pirates."

"Damn right you aren't," George comments, chuckling once.

He risks a glance up at the captain, who looks like he is trying to hold back a smile, he loses the battle upon seeing George, wheezing once, shaking his head.

"You are not normal, mon Prince séduisant et stupide," he says in French with an amused smile.

George's mouth falls open in mock shock. He didn't speak or read French, but anyone could understand what 'stupide' meant. 

"Hey!" He lightly punches the captain in the arm, whining about the soreness as he snatches it back. 

They sit in silence for a while. George was just about to fall asleep, strangely feeling the most comforted he had ever felt in a while, when the captain's romantic accent curls over him.

"I know you think we aren't the same, and maybe that's true. But both of us must face the words written about us by others. You know most of those things people say about you aren't true, as well as I, my Prince. It is the same for me," the captain states simply.

"Mmm," George mumbles, fingertips brushing the captains as a ripple of electricity shoots through the contact point. "I don't even know your name."

The captain hesitates for a moment, seeming to debate if he should tell him.

"It's- it's Dream. I have a real name, but I don't use it. Call me Dream," the captain says hesitantly. 

"Dream," George opens his eyes, face reddening at the halo of moonlight around the captain's wavy blonde hair, looking softer than the bed. "Thank you."

The captain opens his mouth, no words coming out for a moment, but then his face hardens back into its indifferent block of stone.

"You were going to get blood all over my bed. It wasn't for your benefit. You'll wash these sheets in the morning," Dream mutters, getting up and walking out of the room.

George sighs, missing the warmth of Dream already.

But now he realized.

The famous 'nameless captain' now had a name. 

And George now knew it.

And maybe that was enough.


	5. Sheets of Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream stands feet away, staring back at George with the same unreadable expression he always had. If he thought that George was going to be nice to him, he had another thing coming. Last night was... last night George was weak. He would never forgive Dream for capturing him. He feigned niceness, but that didn't change the fact that he had literally kidnapped him.
> 
> He could see it in Dream's eyes. Dream was playing him. He thought he had George wrapped around his fingers. 
> 
> Well, he was wrong.

As the hot sun beat down on him, George wiped his brow free of sweat. His skin was dark with suntan, having changed from its usual pale white with the passing day's work. The light and stiff breeze only brought temporary moments of comfort, whispering by George as a reminder to keep up his work. 

George pushed the mop back and forth, grunting as a pirate shoved past him. The mop handle pushed up into his stomach, stabbing him painfully. He winced, avoiding doubling over, as the supervisor of the workers was watching him. This was ridiculous. 

He was a Prince, and he was doing the work of a servant. He decides he has had enough, throwing the mop down and striding up to the man in charge.

He had learned his name earlier that morning from Karl. His name was Quackity, and he helped Karl organize the crew from time to time, but his main job was to be Dream's Gunner. A Gunner would handle the cannons, organizing the Battlestations together and helping Dream to shout out the orders. Quackity would still do the work of the crew though. All the leaders did. 

After just three days of being on the ship, George had discovered some surprising things. Pirates had this odd... democracy if you will. They voted on matters, and there wasn't really a rank higher than the other. Of course, Karl, Quackity, and Dream were the ones with the most responsibilities, but they also did the work of the crew.

"Listen here, Quackity," George begins, standing up to his full height, which was just a few inches taller than Quackity. "I am the Crowned Prince of England. I am not doing this work anymore. Like it or not, you have to respect me."

Quackity stops tying a knot, looking up at George and quirking an eyebrow at him. He smirks mockingly at George, extending his bottom lip in a mock pout.

"Aww, our little Georgy-weorgy doesn't want to do the work? Too hard for someone of your caliber?" Quackity shoves a finger into George's chest, threateningly. "Listen here, pal. Last I checked, we weren't in England. Here, this deck is mine-"

"Quackity," a gentle voice commands, calling Quackity off George. He sighs in annoyance, shaking his head at George. 

"You're lucky this time. Don't cross me again," Quackity threatens, going off to supervise another area. 

Dream stands feet away, staring back at George with the same unreadable expression he always had. If he thought that George was going to be nice to him, he had another thing coming. Last night was... last night George was weak. He would never forgive Dream for capturing him. He feigned niceness, but that didn't change the fact that he had literally **kidnapped** him.

He could see it in Dream's eyes. Dream was playing him. He thought he had George wrapped around his fingers. 

Well, he was wrong.

"I didn't ask for your help," George snaps angrily, picking up the mop. He was about done with Dream and all his crew. 

"I think a 'you're welcome' is appropriate," Dream leans snarkily against the massive wood wheel, matching George's tone. 

"I think you should be taking me back to England. Take me back now, and I'll consider not giving up your ship to the guards," George threatens. 

"You will not be going back to England until the King strips back the laws against Pirates," Dream states. 

"What laws could you possibly want to be stripped back?" George asks.

"We want back into England. We want to be able to see our families again. Our friends. We want to be able to walk the streets without getting lynched at dawn. Is that really too much to ask?"

"If you must know, yes. The guards haven't had **nearly** as many issues since pirates have been banned. My father would never agree to it. You'll have to do more to convince King Richard and his son," George says harshly.

"But aren't you his son?" Dream asks, sounding genuine.

"Only by blood," George spits, angry at his stupid brother. "My brother isn't even his blood and Richard likes him more. My brother is the spitting image of my father. He is actually much worse. You have no idea what you are doing, keeping me aboard this ship," George retorts, staring at Dream to emphasize his point. "The longer you keep me here, the more screwed you are. You're just proving his point. You're helping him laugh at me."

"And why don't I believe you?" Dream asks, pulling out his sword and beginning to polish and sharpen it.

"Believe me, or don't. The choice is yours," George spits, angry at everyone. "But I demand you take me back to England. I have people there. Special-"

"Oh? What was that?" Dream asks, perking up at the chance to get to someone close to George. 

"Nothing," George snaps. "None of your business." 

"Oh but if I find out..."

"If you find out, I'll make you wish you kidnapped Hades instead of me. You may think I am powerless, and that may be true, but only for right now. For when I am King, and I **will** be King, I will have choices to make. Choices pertaining to you and your loved ones. Just in case you needed a reminder."

Dream cocks one of his eyebrows at George, but says nothing. George sighs angrily, picking up his mop and the bucket and taking it to the other side of the ship. He had enough of Dream for today. And to think, he thought he was getting somewhere with him last night...

Dream was often locked up somewhere in the ship, but George could catch a glimpse of him in the map room with Karl a majority of the time, stooped over one of the many wrinkled maps. It seemed as if they were looking for something, constantly debating back and forth...

George's train of thought gets quickly interrupted by someone calling his name. He quickly snaps his head up, looking for the source. He sees Karl standing by the rope laddar up to the crow's nest, beaconing him over. 

"Karl?" George asks questioningly, feeling queasy as he looks up the latter made of woven rope, swinging in the wind. "You called?"

"Yes. I need you to help me secure these ropes for the sails. We've got some stormy weather ahead, and we need to make sure our sails don't come loose. You know how to tie a bowline knot, right?" Karl asks, already taking one of the ropes and tying it securely to a wooden notch. 

"Umm..." George trails off, holding the thick rope in his hand. He didn't have the first idea how to tie a knot.

"Honestly, George..." Karl smiles, heaving a sigh as if he was terribly annoyed. George knew he was not. 

"Look. Not so hard," Karl teaches George, guiding his hands slowly through the steps before making George practice. 

"The rabbit comes out of the hole, goes around the back of the tree, and then jumps back into the hole," Karl shows George one last time, before handing the rope to him.

George stares at the rope for a moment, before he just trusts himself, following the steps Karl had shown him, perfectly.

"There you go!" Karl exclaims proudly. "You sure you weren't a pirate in your past life?"

"Definitely not..." George trails off awkwardly. "So umm- what about this storm? I've heard they can be pretty dangerous out at sea."

Karl senses George's change of the topic, deciding to move on.

"Well... we should be ok. Typically it's just some rain and a few rough patches! I'm sure we will be fine!" Karl says, smiling.

George smiled back but felt uneasy. He had seen the look in Karl's eyes, and the way that Karl had dropped eye contact for a millisecond. He would recognize someone lying from a mile away. He had been getting lied to his entire life. 

George wanders away from Karl, trying not to be mad at the boy. After all, he was just trying to keep things optimistic. George didn't want things to be optimistic. 

Why were these pirates trying to keep things nice? They literally kidnapped him.

George quickly glances over both his shoulders, looking for the wandering eyes of pirates. When nobody is looking, he quickly opens the doors to one of the unfamiliar rooms, located under the helm where the ship wheel was, sneaking inside and shutting it quietly behind him. He peeks through the tiny crack in the door, watching everyone working outside with a little bit of fear. 

What if someone had found-

He feels a hand on his shoulder, spinning him around and pinning him to the wall. His eyes shut with the forceful impact, pain blooming across his vision since the back of his head had banged against one of the unlit lanterns.

"You shouldn't have abandoned your post," a gruff, unfamiliar pirate voice grates against George's ears, like nails on a chalkboard. The pirate runs a finger down George's face.

"Stop," George commands. "Get off of me."

The pirate continues South, George finally getting tired of being pushed around.

"I said, **stop** ," George sends his perfectly placed punch directly into the nose of the disgusting pirate. He cries in pain, crumpling to the ground as his vision is taken from him momentarily. The last thing George sees before quickly leaving the room is the crimson glint of blood through the man's fingers as he scowls at George.

George looks over his shoulder, walking briskly to get away from the guy, but hits into the chest of someone else.

"Don't!" George holds up his hands in front of his face, crumbling away from the other person.

"Hey, it's just me," Karl says softly, holding up his hands in surrender. 

"Oh. Karl," George says, embarrassed. He straightens his new button-up, still in the same white he always wore. It was a loner from Karl. Dream had offered his closet, but George would have never taken any of it. It was probably stolen off the backs of his own townspeople. 

As the dark clouds grow closer, so does George's apprehension. The wind starts to pick up, whipping his hair into his eyes and sending up a misty breeze of salt that stung his nose and eyes. Soon, there wasn't a spot of blue sky or sun.

"I don't think this is just a normal storm..." Karl mutters.

And they were headed straight for it. 

~

"HOLD YOUR POSITIONS!" Dream shouts, turning the wheel against the force of the angry sea.

George falls back, thumping his elbow painfully on the deck, but pushes himself back up to standing as he re-secures the knot he was almost finished tying. 

The wind grips the crew with its icy talons, trying to claim each member for itself, as the sea tries to lay claim on the ship. Dream had been the voice that hadn't stopped giving orders, even after he was almost thrown overboard. 

When Drea went quiet momentarily, George feared for the worst. When he saw the lime green soaked shirt appear next to him, he knew he was just fine.

"George," Dream shouts to be heard above the howling wind, crying at its loss. "You need to get inside."

"No," George sets his feet firmly, steadying himself against the next powerful gust of wind that was sent his way. Dream grips tightly onto the rope right next to George's head.

"George. Stop being so stubborn. I thought you were too good for crew work," Dream replies, finding time to be angry despite the weather. 

"Shut up Dream. I'm not leaving. I want to help!" George temporarily lets go of the ropes to turn around, shoving Dream away from him. "You have a ship to-"

George's feet slip on the slick deck as he turns back around, his stomach dropping to his feet as he loses his balance. He stumbles, trying to grab onto the rope, missing it as he falls headfirst over the railing. 

At the last second, his hands impossibly grip the slippery wet wood, the last thing from keeping him from falling into the persistent sea, practically begging him to come into its not-so-welcoming embrace. 

He hears someone scream his name, but his vision goes dark as he feels himself slipping. His mind clears as he realizes: he was going to die.

It was almost laughable. 

He would die to... to this?

He opens his eyes, not feeling the release of death. 

Why?

Dream was looking down at him, holding one of his wrists and yelling something at him.

"GEORGE. Grab the railing!" George makes out, reading Dream's lips. He couldn't hear...

He grabs the railing, feeling Dream grunt as he pulls George up. 

George throws a leg over the railing of the ship, feeling himself being pulled in to Dream's soaking wet chest. Without thinking, George wraps his arms firmly around Dream, pulling himself impossibly closer. 

"Oh god," Dream hugs George back fiercely, suddenly shoving George back away from him. "Get off me, idiot. Get below the deck. You obviously can't be trusted to stay at your post." 

George shakes his head, still in too much shock to speak. With shaky hands, he works to tie the same knot he had tied over and over, failing. Dream seizes George's shoulders, turning him around.

"LOOK AT ME GEORGE!" Dream shouts. "GET. BELOW. DECK. Now!" 

George blinks a couple of times, cheeks reddening at the closeness of Dream. He didn't know if he was about to get kissed or slapped. Maybe both.

"Damn it George, right now!" When George still doesn't move, Dream growls in frustration, picking George up and throwing him over his shoulder. How familiar.

Quackity sees the two walking in the direction of the stairs, choosing to swallow his question for the time being. Dream walks down the stairs with practiced grace, somehow not slipping on the steps despite the pouring rain, setting George gently on his feet when they were protected by the wooden roof. 

At the lanterns throw beams of light across Dream's face, his freckles come in and out of focus. The collar of his slightly unbuttoned shirt had shifted, revealing lines of ink poking out just below his collarbone on the left side of his neck. George can't make out what the tattoo is before Dream moves his shirt back into place.

Dream inhales deeply, using his fingers to comb back his hair from his eyes, turning from a light blonde to a dark brown now that it was wet. His blue eyes sparkled against the contrast of the bland wood behind him, passion still not smothered. It was then that George knew. They would survive. Dream would make sure of it.

"Ok?" Dream asks, grabbing George's shoulders one last time, staring deeply into his brown eyes. 

"Y-yes I am," George mutters, looking down in embarrassment. 

"Ok. Stay here," Dream commands, opening the door and letting a little more of the rain flood in, before slamming it behind him. George hears his shouted orders be carried away with the wind, as he returns to his post at the helm of the ship.

George looks around, finding the three leveled bunks that met him, all in neat rows. Each bed was made neatly, corners tucked neatly and tightly into the mattresses. George knew this must be where the crew slept. 

He sighs, pacing around the room. He hated not being able to do anything. He had always been silenced by The Council. Now he was being pushed to the side in the ship. 

The boat lurches, George swaying dangerously on his feet. His stomach churns with nausea, now not being able to see anything. His head knocks against the frame of a bed when he falls with the next lurch, blackness finally swallowing him up.

~

"-he ok?"

"I don't know. He's not bleeding."

"Where's-"

"Move!"

"He should be ok, Dream. He looks a little out of it."

"George, can you hear me?" 

George groans, the sound barely escaping his lips. "I'm- I'm ok guys."

"Thank the sea," Karl mutters, sighing in relief. "Do you need me to lift you? Can you stand?" 

"I think I got it," George tests his balance, getting to his feet and swaying violently as Karl and Dream shoot out their hands protectively to catch George should he fall.

"Guys! I'm ok!" George laughs, wincing as his head pounds. "Just a little disoriented. My head hurts."

"We made it out of the storm George. You can relax now," Karl speaks in soothing tones, patting George on the back as he walks up the stairs back up to the deck.

Dream stands in front of George, the only one left.

"Couldn't even hold your own down here, huh?" Dream asks, meaning to have malice behind his question but not achieving it. 

"You were worried?" George asks, smile becoming more of a grimace as his legs sway with every step he takes. 

"No," Dream says flatly.

George breathes a laugh, walking clumsily up the stairs. He saw that the sky was dark except for the last tiny bit of sunlight. It must have been getting late. 

"Should I sleep with the crew?" George asks gently, not really wanting to walk back down the stairs.

"No," Dream says quickly, leading the way back to the bedroom George had been sleeping in.

When they arrive, Dream opens the doors and guides George through, this time not locking them behind him. 

"Who's room is this anyway? Karls?" George asks, fingers rubbing over the plush of the bedding, longing to dive into it.

"Uhh it's- it's mine," Dream mutters, taking off his belt and hanging it.

"What?" George gets up from the bed quickly, black spots dancing across his vision at the abruptness.

"Yes, and this is where you will remain," Dream commands, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a **very** muscled chest and abs. 

George's eyes widen, but he can't tear them away from the muscles rippling as Dream turns away, shoulders shifting as he slides the wet shirt from his back, tossing it in the closet. 

He turns around, catching George staring.

"What?" he asks simply.

"Uhh- erm- nothing. Nothing at all," George finally tears his eyes from Dream's bare skin, looking at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen.

"Get out of your wet clothes. I don't want you sleeping in my bed and getting it all wet," Dream commands, turning to his closet to retrieve two new shirts, as well as some new pants.

"You want me to change?" George's voice cracks embarrassingly. "Here?"

Dream turns around, staring blankly at George. "Is there a problem?"

"N-no. Of course not," George takes a deep breath, trying to unbutton his shirt with shaky hands.

Dream sighs, noticing George's struggle. He strides over, taking George's hands in his and gently placing them in George's lap.

"I'll help," Dream volunteers, unbuttoning the shirt, seeming to linger his hands as he grips the material around George's shoulders, peeling the wet fabric off him.

George's body wasn't as muscled as Dream's, but there was still some definition. George was still too shocked at Dream's suddenness, mouth slightly agape as he blinked rapidly as if it were a dream. He shivers as the cold wind from the night leaks into the room, hitting his bare skin. 

Dream stares at George's chest freckled with goosebumps, frozen to the spot for a moment. He blinks hard, walking away to retrieve the other shirt for George, seeming almost reluctant. 

"Here," Dream hands the shirt to George gently. 

"I- I don't want it," George mumbles, remembering his promise to himself to not take any of the stolen clothes.

"Nonsense," Dream throws the shirt in George's lap, walking back to his closet to grab the new set of pants, closing the door behind him. 

George snaps out of his trace, taking the shirt hesitantly. He pulls it over his head, immediately noticing the comforting smell of Dream with it. It was like he was in his embrace all over again. 

When Dream isn't looking, George inhales deeply, smiling softly. It did smell like Dream. Not that he knew what Dream smelled like...

When both had changed into shirts and pants, Dream walks back out to check up on George one last time before leaving.

"Got everything?" Dream asks, hand lingering on the door handle.

"Yes but... where have you been sleeping?" George asks gently, settling under the covers of Dream's bed. 

"In Karls room."

"You could- you could sleep in here," George suggests. "There is plenty of room in this huge bed."

Dream seems to consider it for a moment. 

"I'll sleep on the floor," he grabs one of the extra fluffy blankets from his closet, lying it on the floor next to George's side of the bed. George throws him a pillow, thwacking him right in the face.

George giggles softly before he sees the murder in Dream's eyes. 

As the last of the lanterns die down, he laughs loudly.

"Sorry," he calls to the dark.

"Asshole," Dream mutters, both of their breathing turning heavier as they fell into a comfortable silence, both not knowing why, but feeling safe. 

Safe with each other.


	6. Est-ce au Revoir?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How are you feeling?" Dream asks, voice muffled as he pulls on his typical shirt behind the closed doors of the closet, putting on the trench coat he always wore over it. George wished he would have paid more attention when Dream had taken off his shirt the other night. It was too dark to see much of anything anyway. 
> 
> "Me? Uhh, I'm feeling fine," George mumbles, taking little note of the slight pounding on his head from his fall yesterday. "Just a little bit of a headache but I should be ok."
> 
> Dream strides over, eyebrows creasing slightly as he rubs cool fingers over George's temples. George moans, melting into the incredibly soothing touch. They remain there for a moment, forgetting about the actions and duties of the Antarah for these little moments they could have with each other. 

TW // scars

George mumbles, gently stirred from his sleep. He moans softly, reaching out to grab something warm to cuddle on to, but nothing was there. He whimpers, scooting himself across the bed still half asleep, goosebumps breaking out across his skin at the low temperature. 

Finding nothing, he sighs in dismay, his half-awake brain telling him he needed to get up. He rubs his hands over his eyes, trying to adjust them to the little bit of light that had started trickling over the horizon, casting the ocean in pink hues. 

He flops back on one of the pillows, closing his eyes. They hurt too much from the sun reflecting off the water. He moves to get up, launching himself off the bed with quite a bit of force so he wouldn't be tempted to lay back down. 

He yelps in surprise when his foot catches on something as he stumbles right to the floor, landing on something with an exclamation of pain. 

"Ouch," the thing below him mutters, sounding in like his oxygen was restricted. 

Wait...

"Dream?" George mumbles questioningly, his brain now fully awake with the awareness that he was laying on top of the captain.

"Well are you going to GET UP or shall I continue to keep getting crushed?" Dream asks, placing his hands under George's shoulders and pushing George off him. 

"S-sorry," George stutters, cheeks burning as he gets up, untangling himself from the blanket his foot had got stuck in. 

Dream rolls his shoulders, stiff from laying on the hardwood of the floor all night. George notices, tempted to ask but ultimately saying nothing. 

"How are you feeling?" Dream asks, voice muffled as he pulls on his typical shirt behind the closed doors of the closet, putting on the trench coat he always wore over it. George wished he would have paid more attention when Dream had taken off his shirt the other night. It was too dark to see much of anything anyway. 

"Me? Uhh, I'm feeling fine," George mumbles, taking little note of the slight pounding on his head from his fall yesterday. "Just a little bit of a headache but I should be ok."

Dream strides over, eyebrows creasing slightly as he rubs cool fingers over George's temples. George moans, melting into the incredibly soothing touch. They remain there for a moment, forgetting about the actions and duties of the Antarah for these little moments they could have with each other. 

After a moment, George moves away reluctantly from Dream. "We should probably get going..."

The smallest sigh escapes Dream's lips, George barely catching it as Dream rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. George's eyes widen slightly in surprise when he sees it, just barely out of the corner of his eye. 

Little specks of ink. On Dream's wrist. 

"What?" Dream notices George staring intently at his wrist. 

"It's just..." George giggles as he gently grabs Dream's wrist. Dream flinches, moving his hand back quickly, hesitating for a moment before placing his wrist gently in George's hand. George turns his hand over to where Dream's palm faced up, pulling his sleeve up to reveal the smile tattoo.

"You have a tattoo?" George asks, running his finger across the very simplistic two dots for the eyes and the little curved line for the smile. It was cute.

"Erm- yeah. Yeah I do," Dream says, beginning to pull his hand back. 

George noticed the slight quiver in his voice, looking up into the taller man's eyes concernedly before flicking his gaze back down to his wrist. 

Wait... 

Just above the tattoo laid angry white marks set in a circle around his wrist. George recognized that scar...

Dream yanked his wrist back, yanking his sleeve over the spot where the rope scarred him so long ago.

"Dream..." George begins, cut off by Dream turning away, quickly pulling on his boots and grabbing his tricorn pirate hat, almost making it out the door before George stepped in front of him, blocking his path. 

"George... I don't want to talk about this. Move," Dream looked everywhere but George's face, voice sounding commanding, yet not physically moving George out of the way. 

"But Dream..." George trailed off.

"I said **move**."

 _Screw it,_ George thinks, unbuttoning the button of his sleeve by his wrist, yanking it down to reveal a matching scar, shoving his arm in front of Dream's face. 

And suddenly it's as if George can see the anger in Dream's eyes crack. He reaches up gentle hands, taking George's to look closer at the scar.

"You- you have the same scar as me. How did you get this?" Dream asks, voice quivering with barely contained rage. 

"It doesn't matter..." George trails off, memory taking him back to the damp, freezing cell, the rope biting forcibly into his wrist the only thing keeping him conscious. He was barely alive, having gotten beaten so much by his father. More than usual. The only thing he remembered from that night was a little prick in the soft part of his elbow, then nothing. 

George shives violently, willing his brain to take him back to the present before he could remember any more. 

Dream stares back at George sternly, and George sighs, knowing he wouldn't get away with this one. He had opened a box that could not be closed.

"It's from my father. That's all I can say. I don't remember any of it. I can't. He did something to me to make me forget. All I can remember is tiny little pictures of that night, then the sharp smell of antiseptic, a prick, then nothing," George explains, gaze locked on the floor, running over every groove in the wood. "I don't even remember how I ended up in the cell..."

Dream heaves a sigh, still holding George's wrist gently despite his rough hands. 

"I got it when I got caught in England," Dream begins, knowing George wanted to know. "I was in a particularly populated area that guards weren't supposed to be at. I was meeting someone who had told me the guards wouldn't be there. I trusted them enough to comply."

"Guards suddenly showed up in the alley I was hiding in, searching me until they found the medallion hanging on my neck. They pulled down the scarf covering my face and they knew. They knew it was me. They knew who I was. Who doesn't know who I am by now?"

"They took me to a cell, tying my wrists above my head just high enough that I had to stand on the tips of my toes all through the night until my planned execution in the morning. I fell asleep, exhausted from being beaten and at the substantial amount of blood I had lost. When I woke, I wasn't in the prison anymore," Dream releases George's wrist. "Bandages were wrapped around both my wrists and I could feel some sort of ointment on them. Someone saved me."

"Who saved you?" George asks.

"I don't know. They didn't leave anything. The bandages looked expensive though, and I know not many people had the money for ointment. I have no idea how I got out. I did come back into consciousness for just a moment, but their face was covered. Only a little tip of brown hair was what I saw. I don't know. It was dark."

George gasps as he feels the door he was leaning against open, falling backward before Dream scooped him up, pulling him close to his chest. So close George could smell that familiar pine scent. 

"Oops sorry!" Karl squeaks, noticing the two boys in a very close embrace. "Was I interrupting something?"

"Damn it Karl how many times do I have to tell you to knock before you just burst into my chambers?" Dream mutters, loosening his grip on George so he could follow Karl out of the room. 

George stands frozen to the spot for a moment, shivering as he thought about the way Dream quickly squeezed him closer before letting him go. He hears Dream call his name, snapping him out of his daze as he quickly rounds the corner, following after the men.

~

"We've got a problem," Karl says, pointing out the large windows of the map room. 

In the distance, there was another ship.

A ship with black sails.

Dream frowns, taking the telescope from Quackity's outstretched hand, peering through it.

"Hmm," he comments darkly, snapping the telescope shut and handing it back to Quackity. "Do they want anything?"

"Sir..." Quackity gestures in the direction of George, Dream's eyes flicking to him, then back to Quackity, looking unbothered. 

"He's fine," Dream says, waiting for Quackity, who looked slightly skeptical but continued nonetheless. 

"I'm sure they are just doing the usual. Trying to prey on random ships in the sea to get money, telling them they owe them debt, and then sinking them to the bottom of the Pacific after they get their money. They just picked the wrong ship," Quackity shrugs. "And I'm sure they know this ship. From- from her," 

"Oh my god it's those godforsaken bandits again, isn't it?" Dream asks, rolling his eyes dramatically. 

Both Quackity and Karl nod.

Dream groans, opening the door to the main deck of the ship. 

"You know what to do," he commands before his footsteps can be heard, going up the stairs to the helm of the Antarah.

"Another day, another group of bandits!" Karl exclaims, Quackity laughing as he follows Dream out the door.

"Alright you sorry lot! Get yerselves to the cannons and make yerselves useful why don't cha?" George hears Quackity yell at the crew before the door clicks shut, leaving just Karl and George.

"You may as well stay with me, or you can go up with Dream," Karl comments distractedly, sitting back at the large circular table and going back to studying the maps, making seemingly random marks all over the maps.

"What exactly are you guys looking for?" George asks, leaning over to look at the maps that meant nothing to him, seeing notes on the margins completely in French. He really should have learned French. 

"Ahh I'm afraid I cannot tell you that. It's for Dream to tell," Karl smiles sympathetically up at George before diving back into his work.

"Should I be worried about the bandits kidnapping me again?" George comments. "I am extremely handsome and not to mention, crowned Prince of England."

"No," Karl giggles at George's mock selfish comment. "Plus, Dream wouldn't let them take you. Trust me."

George smiles.

"Actually, I reckon you should go up an' join him at the helm. We make easy work of these bandits. Their artillery is like toys compared to ours," Karl chuckles. "Go up there so Dream can show off."

George rolls his eyes dramatically, pretending to be annoyed with the suggestion. Karl laughs at George dramatically throwing the door open, wishing him luck as George closes the door behind him. 

He rounds the corner, going up the fairly grand staircase to the back of the Antarah. He sees Dream behind the massive pirate ship wheel, one hand on one of the notches at the top. He gazes out across the deck, watching his crew work in perfect sync. 

Anyone could tell that Dream ran a very skilled crew. 

Before George can announce himself to Dream, Dream whistles sharply, looking up to the masts by the sails. From the crows nest at the very top, something brown drifts lazily from the top, flying down to land on Dream's outstretched arm. 

"You have a goddamn FALCON?" George shouts, hearing the surprised screech of the bird. 

Dream turns around, laughing. 

"Yes I do. Her name is Alita," Dream smiles fondly, petting her head calmly. "She's our little scout. My mother, Adelle, gave her to me when I was young."

"Ah-Lee-tah?" George pronounces, looking to Dream for clarity, who nods. "Pretty. Is it French?"

"Oui. Means winged," Dream comments. "I know. Super creative. It was one of the first words I learned when I was young, and it had a nice ring to it, so Alita she became."

George walks over, noticing the intricate blend of white and brown speckles on Alita's feathers. She truly was a beautiful falcon. She screeches at him, Dream cooing to her and petting her head to let her know George was ok. Her eyes flutter closed softly at the gentle strokes from Dream, calming her. 

"Touch her," Dream urges, moving his finger from her head. 

"No way!" George exclaims, moving back. He wasn't necessarily afraid of her, but her beak did look rather sharp... and her talons...

"It's ok, George," Dream speaks softly, holding out his hand. "Here."

George hesitates for only a moment before gently taking Dream's hand. Dream guides George's hand, placing it gently in the center of her back. He nods encouragingly, and when Alita doesn't bite one of George's fingers off, he hesitantly strokes her once.

"There you go!" Dream exclaims. "That's a good girl, Alita!"

George smiles, petting her with more confidence. She seemed to like him!

"To be honest, she doesn't even like Karl," Dream admits, smiling guiltily at George.

"So you made me PET a vicious beast who doesn't even like KARL?!?!" George squeaks, pulling his hand back slowly.

"Really George? Vicious beast?" Dream squints, looking down at Alita who looked back at him. Even she seemed to think the statement was ridiculous. 

"Don't you have some bandits to be taking out?" George asks, wondering how he managed to forget their primary objective for so long. 

Dream just laughs, whistling again to send Alita soaring into the air, perching on the nearest mast, ruffling her feathers, annoyed she had been sent off. 

At this point, Dream had the ship lined up appropriately for Quackity to direct his men to prepare. 

"You might wanna cover your ears," Dream suggests smugly. "Cannons are just a bit loud..."

"I'm the Prince of England, you bitch. I've been around cannons quite a bit in my lifetime," George rolls his eyes, moving to stand closer to Dream. "How can you be so chill when you are about to send these bandits to the bottom of the ocean?" 

"Because it's an easy battle," Dream comments, smiling smugly as George rolls his eyes dramatically. "Just like England will be."

"Ok listen here arsehole. You can't just talk about England like that. I'll be ruling it one day," George growls. "And when I do, you better make sure you're on my good side."

"What makes you think that I need to do anything?" Dream raises his voice. "For it is you who is under our foot. You haven't seen the power we hold."

"What are you **threatening** me now?" George asks, crossing his arms defensively.

"All I'm saying is you better watch your back. Pirates aren't as expendable as you think," Dream snips, turning away from George. 

"Watch this be the one time I get literally kidnapped by pirates, and the entire ship blows up. This'll be the one time you lose a battle, just to spite me!" George yells. 

Dream's mouth sets in a hard line, eyes on the bandit ship to the right of them, straight across the line of the cannons. 

"I think you'll be surprised," Dream retorts. 

"Ready! Aim! Fire!" Quackity yells, the first blast from the cannons firing straight at the bandits, hitting true to their mark.

It only takes four rounds of reloading, aiming, and firing the cannons to completely sink the bandit's ship. They don't even get off a single shot on the Antarah. 

"Told you," Dream snaps, leaving George behind as he storms from the deck. Where had that mood swing even come from?

"Now wait a minute!" George points a finger at Dream's back, following behind him quickly. At the bottom of the stairs, Dream turns to go into the map room, George barely squeezing in the door before it's slammed shut. 

Dream stops suddenly and George slams into his back with an oomf. 

Dream turns around, leaning down so they were almost touching noses. 

"What, George?" Dream asks slowly, voice low and threatening. 

George opens his mouth once, then twice, then he shuts it, rendered speechless by Dream's sudden... closeness...

"Get off me Dream," George mumbles, pushing lightly on Dream's chest.

"Or what? You'll lynch my people at dawn? You'll persecute us even more?" Dream taunts, mouth a hard line.

"Oh, you're the one to talk! You literally KIDNAPPED ME!" George yells, just as angry as Dream. "You expect me to show you mercy when all along I've been pretty damn compliant with you. And watch your tone. Need I remind you that even though this may be your stupid ship, I am still your Prince. You'll speak to me with respect, or you may not have a crew in the future."

Dream growls at George, fists clenching into tight balls at his side.

"Well, you don't have to worry about being on my 'stupid ship' anymore, Your Highness," Dream spits the title at George venomously. 

"Dream I need to know..." Sapnap rounds the corner, eyes widening when he sees the two extremely close. From his point of view, it looked like something else...

"Sapnap," Dream doesn't take his eyes off George or move away. If anything, he was getting closer. "Set the course back to England. Right now. I want this royal scum off the Antarah as soon as possible."

"Sapnap I agree! Get me off this godforsaken ship with a stupid captain. I don't envy being in your position. How can you even serve-"

"DO NOT command my men," Dream points a finger at George's face, Sapnap hurrying to catch his arm. 

"Dude," Sapnap tugs him back from George gently. "He's a royal-"

"Do you think I care about that?" Dream laughs, tense with anger.

"I should have your head!" George retorts, scowling.

"Good! It'd be the only head you'll ever get!" Dream takes a knife out of his belt, slamming it into one of the maps on the table, looking to Sapnap.

"Find Karl. We're going back to England. Take care of George. Or don't. I don't care anymore," Dream walks out, shouldering George hard enough to knock him back a step as he exits. 

"My god," George exhales, rubbing his eyes.

"Let's go, George," Sapnap says quietly, leading George out from the map room. He guides him back down the same stairs Dream had carried him down when they had the huge storm. Where the crew slept.

"You'll be staying in here. We'll reach England by first light tomorrow. I suggest you rest up," Sapnap quips, shutting the door behind him. "Oh yeah, and the crew will probably notice you. I suggest one of the bunks in the back."

When the door clicks shut, George yells in frustration. He kicks hard at one of the bedposts, whining in agony when his toe is crushed. 

The funny thing was that it wasn't the only thing that was crushed.

~

George rolls over, agony shooting up his back. The mattress he had been sleeping on was stiff, much worse than Dream's bed. Thank god he wasn't in Dream's bed. He didn't want to go near him again.

He groans, seeing the dark and murky water that indicated it was still early in the morning. He sighs, rolling on his back and flopping an arm over his eyes. The distant, muted snores of the crewmates surrounding him drone on and on, preventing him from sleep. 

He lies in the bunk, determined to fall back into his own personal world but fails. He sighs in anger, throwing back the itchy sheets and walking barefoot across the deck and to the stairs leading up to the main deck of the ship.

The air smells sweeter up here, carrying the perfect blend of mist and comfort. George pads across the deck to the front of the ship, leaning over the rough wooden railing to see a wooden figurehead of a powerful falcon, wings outstretched. It was frozen in a screech, talons reaching out toward the sea. 

It looked a little like Alita. 

George sighs, turning around to take in the entirety of the massive ship. It was the first time he was really able to see anything without the massive packs of the crew blocking off any of the parts. 

The ship truly was finely made.

George traces his hand along the protective railing, slotting his legs in between a section in the railing. Far, far in the distance, he could see what he thought was England. They really were taking him back.

What was this thing he was feeling?

As the gentle waves lap against the side of the ship, for one moment there is absolute stillness. George closes his eyes, a shiver going up his spine. 

He hadn't had a quiet moment to himself... well, ever.

And it was about to get a whole lot worse.

He knew that when he returned, he would have a lot to do. A lot to make up for. Richard and Azazel would not be happy at his return. George sighs, leaning his head against the railing. He didn't want to have to think about being King just yet. 

As of right now, he was a Prince.

A role many would kill for. Hell, George would kill for it too.

But that was if he didn't know any better. 

As the dark sky turns light and the stars make way for a beautiful blue sky, George can hear the activities and commotion begin. He felt almost... bittersweet.

This was his last day aboard the Antarah. 

His last day with Dream.

Despite the cold relations, he hoped he had at least instilled some sort of alliance with the man, no matter how great. 

"Ready at your positions!" George hears Dream yell, turning to see him fully dressed, hand on the wheel. "Today we return Your Highness."

The crew yells their acknowledgment, and Dream comes down the stairs, walking toward George, still at the front of the ship.

"Ready?" Dream asks shortly, staring just past George. "I expect we won't get any trouble from the King."

"Honestly? I can't promise anything," George admits. "I still have some diplomatic relations. I'll keep you safe... Not that you need it." 

"Well, this is as far as we go. Karl will row you to shore. It's just out of reach of your men's cannons, should you not be successful," Dream nods once in farewell, turning to leave.

George sighs, mumbling a goodbye to the odd pirate, unlike anyone he had ever met. A pang of longing hits him straight in the chest, despite not even being away from him yet. He knows, against his better judgment, he would miss him.

Always.

"Dream," George calls, Dream turning over his shoulder to finally look into George's eyes. "It's- it's been interesting."

Dream is silent for a moment before a grin splits his face as he breathes a laugh. "I couldn't imagine kidnapping anyone else," he smiles, nodding. 

"Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown," Dream quotes, looking at George, something more than just anger behind his eyes. 

"Shakespeare?" 

"Shakespeare."

George smiles, sadness washing over him. He would miss this. He could see that Dream would too.

"I hope you find what it is you are looking for," George extends his hand, ever the formal.

Dream shakes his head, shaking George's hand firmly, his warm hand engulfing George's cold one. They linger, holding hands and staring into each other's eyes for the last time. It is George who finally steps away, dropping Dream's hand and following Karl into the rowboat at the bottom of the ship.

It is then that George remembers the pirate's medallion he still had around his neck. He calls Dream, extending his hand to give it back, but Dream just shakes his head.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're one of us now, Prince George," Dream smiles sadly, turning on his heel and disappearing from view. 

Karl rows them to the shore, thankfully not encountering any sort of guards or resistance.

"Well George, it's been nice," Karl smiles, hugging George. "I can only hope this isn't farewell."

George smiles, eyes getting slightly wet. Alas, he shouldn't be sad. He was home.

"When I am King, you will always be welcome in England, Karl," George steps out of the boat, untying the rope that had kept them tethered to the dock. "Strangely, I'll miss you..."

"I won't," Karl smirks. "I'll be proud to serve under you, King George. Don't ruin the country. Or do. You could just come back with us anytime you decide England is too boring."

"Do me a favor?" George asks, pulling off one of the rings with their noble seal on it. "Give this to Dream?"

Karl smiles knowingly, nodding his head as he tucks it gently inside one of his pockets.

George waves once, watching as Karl drifts away.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of Dream for you!" Karl shouts, George laughing at his wide grin. 

He stands on the dock for ages, watching as the Antarah eventually retreats in the direction from which it came. He watches the ship, knowing exactly what would be happening. Quackity would be yelling, Karl marking the maps, and Dream...

Was he looking back? 

George would like to think he was.

Maybe in a past life, they could have even been friends.

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH sorry this took so long to post! it was a pretty long chapter for me, so I just wanted to make sure it was perfect for you guys! 
> 
> Let me know what you think! :D <3


	7. Disguised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Father," George's accent rolls off his tongue, placing himself to the right of Richard.
> 
> "My son," the King tries his best to sound warm, but George can hear the sharp edge of disappointment in his tone. "Where have you been?"

George takes a deep breath, fidgeting with the sleeves of his itchy shirt as his maids both wait to open the doors to the throne room for him.

He had walked back to the castle just a while ago, not seeing anything that suggested Richard had named Azazel the King, thank the gods for that. A few of the townspeople had noticed him, despite the dark thin scarf covering his face. They greeted him with enthusiasm, not even knowing he was gone in the first place. 

George had returned to the castle from the docks to no welcome, but that was how he liked it. He was able to walk the familiar halls, looking so similar yet different in every way. He had a new perspective. The once thought grand castle just seemed so...

Small.

When George had reached his old chambers, he noticed they looked the same as when he left. The bed had crisp sheets on it and there was not a speck of dust to be seen on the furniture. His maids had quickly noticed his return, noticing his sour expression and deciding not to ask. 

"You're in perfect condition sir," one comments. "We've missed you this past week. So glad you could return in time for your birthday coming up."

Ahh yes. How could George forget? His eighteenth birthday was coming up next week. He had been planning this birthday for years. He was finally old enough to take the throne. He hadn't realized an entire week had passed whilst he was aboard the Antarah. 

"I've been gone a week?" George asks, holding out his arms so the maids could fit him back into his dark navy suit. "Seems like much less."

"You weren't hurt?" the other maid asks him tenderly.

"Not at all," George's nose twitches. "Did my father and brother...?"

Both maids are quiet for a moment. 

"Your father isn't doing so well," one says slowly. "'Tis good you are back."

"What do you mean, not doing so well?" George asks slowly, hoping for the most unfavorable.

"Your bother has convinced the King to hunt down every single known pirate until none stand. His Highness thought this was an outstanding idea. If you can't fix it, Sir... I fear for what could happen," she murmurs hastily, knowing her word was treason.

"If you don't mind me asking Sir, where did you go?" the blonde-haired maid asked politely.

"I... went to the aid of the townspeople. Did you not get my letter?" George asks innocently. Both maids shake their heads. "'Tis odd..."

The rest of the fitting is hushed, maids taking care to get George back into his suit, tying the tie in a loose knot around his neck.

"Your crown sir," George dips his head, feeling the light crown placed upon his curls. A symbol of nobility. Trust. Fairness. 

George felt as if the royal name was stained; a growing dark red spot that could never be washed away. There was no going back. Now, only one question remained to be answered.

How big would that stain grow before it could be stopped?

~

"His Highness, Prince George the IV!"

George strides into the room met with the surprisingly unsurprised faces of his father and his brother. The members of the council stand immediately, eyes sparkling as they smile, bowing to him.

"Father," George's accent rolls off his tongue, placing himself to the right of Richard.

"My son," the King tries his best to sound warm, but George can hear the sharp edge of disappointment in his tone. "Where have you been?"

"An unexpected issue arose. My people requested me in the Southern District, so there I went. I talked to my maids and they said they didn't get my letter. I assume you did not either?"

Richard shakes his head, distaste filling his expression. He was already growing restless with the conversation. 

"I presume you haven't forgotten my birthday," George smirks. 

The King matches the artificial smile, bound with poison. "Yes, my beloved son. Of age to be King. A very thrilling year for you!"

"'Tis," George nods once. "A role I will be accepting as soon as I am given the occasion."

"Lot of demand for a young one..." King Richard mutters, slightly darker meaning behind his words. 

"Fortunately you have trained me, well sir," George rivals the ominous tone.

The members of the Council had been watching the conversation, eyes ping-ponging from Prince to King. They picked up on the stiff conversation, not uttering a single sound. 

"Well then!" George claps his hands together, rising from his throne. "I wouldn't want to keep you. Sounds like I've got some laws to reverse!" 

George feels an icy cold hand clench around his wrist. "Need I remind you,  ** boy ** , that I am still your King?" 

"That is very clear sir," George spits back, grabbing Richard's hand and thrusting it back at him. 

He strides from the room, hearing the murmurs of the Council members just before the door clicks shut behind him.

His father was right.

He couldn't do anything. 

For now.

~

George traverses the town, his typical black scarf pulled around his face. The sky was a dark grey today, which George didn't mind. He enjoyed the stormy weather and the lovely rainbows it always created. 

What would he be doing right now if he were aboard the Antarah?

Would he be looking at maps, maybe?

Talking with Karl?

Standing next to Dream?

He didn't want to think about that last one. Dream and Karl were the only two people who even resembled friends. George missed them terribly, even after just a couple of hours. He hoped they were doing ok. 

He didn't even know how to warn them. He needed to figure out a way to know what place they were on the list. How much time would he have to warn them?

Noticing there were no staff or guards, George ducks behind one of the pillars, going through the hallway only royals and special attendants of the Crown were allowed. The archive room.

Richard had forbidden the room to George, but if he could sneak back there...

George reaches the vault door, entering the code that he had seen Richard enter so many times. What? Life at the palace gets boring sometimes... you'd be surprised how easy it was for George to hack into the security cameras. 

Kane had made George promise to be careful. Hey, what could he say? It was helpful to know the head guards. They know all the passwords...

George closes the massive steel door behind him as quietly as he can, walking past all the old filing cabinets. The room was about the size of a house, rows upon rows of signed documents, some stained yellow with age. The room was sectioned by each King and the passing of time. George walked toward the back of the room, watching the languages turn more modern and papers turn more white. 

When he finally reached Richards section, he looked through the very last of what had been filed. There it was. The list. 

He skims it from bottom to top, seeing names of pirates that he didn't recognize. David... Beckham, Kadin, Peyton, Riley, Simon...

But no Dream. 

He finally made it almost to the top, heart speeding up when he saw at the very top of the list.

Les Immortels. 

The name of the entirety of Dream's crew. 

George groans, pocketing the list. He knew he would need it later. 

This was going to be a hell of a lot harder than he thought. He just needed to get Dream's attention. 

But how?

~

George rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration. How would Dream know that George needed him back?

It had been two whole days, and he still couldn't figure out how to contact Dream. He and Kane had a long talk the late afternoon of the first day George returned to England. George had explained everything that happened to him, pleading for Kane to assist George in finding Dream. 

Kane had agreed, but it took a lot of convincing. He was reluctant to help George, warning him that his acts could land him in jail and worse- out of the running for the crown. 

George knew that. He did.

But this was more significant to him. 

Kane had been watching the docks, as well as movement further in the sea. He returned to George every night for the past two days, and still... nothing. 

Ordinarily, George wouldn't have been concerned. But this- this was a different situation. George couldn't risk the crew coming back to England. They would be killed for sure.

He rubs his medallion, a nervous habit he had recently developed. He thought of Dream, closing his eyes as he rubbed his temples with his free hand. All he wanted was for him to return. Alas, he couldn't. He knew Dream, along with the entirety of his crew, would be murdered. 

He would have to find the pirates some other way, without arising suspicion. 

Then he remembered. The bar he always went to by the docks. Tons of pirates filtered in and out. Surely there would be some people there at 11 at night. 

George quickly slips his shoes on, pulling a dark jacket around his shoulders to brace against the cold night's wind. He slips out of his window, dropping to the grass below. He reaches for his black scarf, pulling it tight around his face. 

Time to find the unfindable. 

~

George places himself at one of the back tables.

The bar was lit by dim candlelight, casting dark shadows among the faces of the customers. George makes out the glint of light off gold, eyeing the man until he came to stand next to George.

"What's your problem?" he asks gruffly.

"I need information on a pirate," George eyes the man, gesturing for him to sit.

"Pirate? I don't know anything about pirates..." The man crosses his arms, proving to be difficult to work with. 

"Would this change your mind, perhaps?" George asks, pulling a pouch from his pocket. He pulls the drawstring, dumping the contents out on the table with a clatter. Golden coins.

The man squints at George, hesitating for a moment before sitting.

"Who are you?"

"Someone who can make life better for you," George responds, giving no more information than that. "You know the crew Les immortals?"

"Know 'em? Hell, I more than know 'em," the man grunts, taking a swig of beer. George nods at him to continue.

"They dock at a place where no common man would dare to go. Place is crawling with the most unforgiving of folk, the whole lot of them damned for centuries. Even I wouldn't go there..." he shudders. "Place isn't on any of England's maps. Damn royals scuffed it out. Don't want any of its population going there. They'd never return in one piece."

"Can you get me a map that has it?" George asks.

"I'll need to be persuaded..."

George pulls another pouch, slightly bigger than the first, tossing it at the chest of the pirate. "That should do."

The man smiles, showing crooked, yellowed teeth. He reaches into his coat pocket, pulling a crinkled, yellowed map and handing it gently to George. 

"You've got yourself a map to Tortuga, royal." 

"Royal...?"

"You forgot your badge, your highness."

George looks down, instantly covering his badge depicting his rank. Shit. He had forgotten to take it off.

George looks back up, opening his mouth to think of some sort of excuse, but the man holds up his hand. 

"We believe in you, Prince George. Your secret is safe with those who fly the black flag."

"I'll remember that," George says, getting up, nodding in farewell. 

"Some of the pirates won't," the man warns. "Best show up without your wealth. Blend it. It's your best bet at living. Needless to say, lots of them aren't too happy with the royals right now. Watch your back," the pirate warns.

"Leave that up to me," George smiles. 

~

George walks back to the palace, slipping in his window from which he came earlier. He pulls off the scarf and unclips his royal badge. He couldn't believe he had forgotten about it. 

He switches his typical clothes for nightclothes after getting in the shower. Finally, he lied down, not feeling any more tired. He hadn't slept in so long. Ever since getting off the Antarah...

After a couple of hours, George gives up on sleep. It was pointless. 

He decides instead to wander the halls, somehow ending up at Kane's room. He knocks twice, hearing Kane call permission to enter.

George walks in, surprised Kane is still awake.

"Care to discuss plans?" George asks, sitting in one of the wooden chairs. 

"Sure," Kane agrees. "So, you know exactly what you'll do, right?"

George nods his assent.

"Good. I'll be grabbing one of the merchant's ships so we don't panic the pirates. We'll pay a hefty price so they keep quiet. All the guards have sworn secrecy. We'll bring only the bare minimum to keep up the ship overseas. Tortuga is about an hour sail from England, so not too bad," Kane says. 

"Yes. And when I get to Tortuga we'll scout for Antarah. It is the only one of its kind. You'll know it by the massive wooden falcon figurehead. If we should be so lucky as to find it, I will be the only one getting off the ship while you guys hold down the fort with ours," George strategizes. 

Both boys discuss the plans further until first light, George quietly stealing away to his room. 

They knew exactly what they were doing. 

They might pull this off...

~

"Father," George prompts, walking into the empty throne room, save for his father. 

"Son," Richard's voice booms.

"I would like to request one of the royal ships," George comments, pretending to study a nonexistent speck of dust on the furniture.

"And why is that?" Richard asks, looking up from his paperwork.

"I think a trip out to some of the neighboring countries could be good. You know, since I'll be future King and all," George suggests.

The King eyes him for a moment, searching George's eyes as if to try and force the secret out of him. After a moment, the King looks back to his work.

"Yes, I suppose you could."

George bows, thanking the King as he backs out. He smirks. Everything was going to plan.

George heads back to his room to prepare.

He rifles through his closet, digging through each part before he discovers the clothes he once had for the trip he made across the sea to visit the neighboring region, Scotland. He pulls a tunic, black jacket, and black pants. 

He finds his boots shoved in a corner, pulling them on and tucking his pants into them. He threads a scabbard through the loops of the pants, tucking the loose tunic into the top. He unlaces it a bit, revealing a lot more of his chest than he was used to. 

Whatever.

He needed to fit in. Suppress his royal tendencies. 

George knew how to do that quite well, so he wasn't worried.

He finds the sword, sliding it in to comfortably rest in the scabbard. He packs his extra coins in the inner pockets of the dark coat, protecting them from wandering hands.

Finally, he was ready.

He strides out of his room, the picture of confidence. Kane meets George right where they had planned, walking out of the palace like they owned the place. 

The people barely take notice of the two people dressed like townspeople walking down the street, unknowing it was their Prince and a Noble Guard. 

Both walk down to the docks, meeting up with the four other guards there. George shakes all their hands, nodding his respects.

"Thank you gentlemen for having the courage to do this. I am sorry this couldn't be done when I had the throne. We shouldn't have to be so secretive. You are all heroes in my book," George smiles at the guards, who bow gratefully.

"You paid the merchant?" George asks the nearest Guard.

"Yes sir. He only thinks it's fellow merchants who don't have a ship and desperately needed to borrow one. He won't give us trouble."

"Wonderful," George smiles.

With little issues, the group sets out for Tortuga. 

George enters the covered cabin, smiling in delight.

Books!

And not just any books...

Their spines were creased with age, pages brittle, yellow, and smelling of must. George cracked the cover of one, dust billowing as he holds back a cough. George quickly found that it was a journal, entries seeming to be dated quite recently. 

George thumbs through the pages, looking for something interesting. 

He finds sections about old legends, as well as more information about the supposed 'government' the pirates had. George couldn't believe it. Pirates had a Queen. Queen Adelina the II, to be specific. There wasn't much information on her, only that she inherited the throne when her brother died. It said she had only one son, but there was no information on him either. 

She was drawn in a fierce pose, eyes staring back at George, seeming to challenge him. Through the charcoal sketch, George couldn't help but feel like he had seen similar eyes somewhere...

He dismisses the feeling, flipping to a different page. 

Lyrics to songs, as well as the notes to play them cover several pages. 

George tucks the book into his pack that he brought, hoping the merchant wouldn't mind. He knew how to play the piano, thanks to his boring lessons he had when he was a kid. Even on paper, the notes to the song had this angelic quality to them. George couldn't wait until he could play it.

He spends the rest of the ride thumbing through pages of the journals, most of it being things he already knew. When they finally stop moving, George hears the loud shouting before Kane even opens the door.

They're here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that chapter! :D
> 
> Apologies if it's a little rough! I wanted to post it tonight, but I had very limited time to edit it! hope it was ok! 
> 
> As always, I would love to hear what you think of the fic so far! Comments and Kudos are GREATLY appreciated! <333


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